


Build You Wings

by fiddleyoumust



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Harry haven't seen each other in a long time, but Gemma's wedding is the perfect opportunity for sparks to fly. Especially if Anne and Gemma have anything to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Build You Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsronweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley/gifts).



> This is for Liz. I adore you and am so happy this fandom brought you to me. I hope you like this.
> 
> Special thanks to Erica for the beta. You're the best. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

The cab lurches to a stop. Nick glances at his phone impatiently, as if checking the time incessantly will somehow make him less late. What should have been a five-minute drive has turned into a fifteen-minute journey, and they’re still two whole blocks away. Patience has never been one of Nick’s virtues. He’s beyond annoyed even though he knows there is nothing the driver can do to make the traffic disappear.

“Just stop here,” Nick tells the cabbie, handing him enough to cover the fare and a hefty tip to make up for Nick being a bit of an arse.

Nick runs up the street as fast as he can, swerving to avoid a few slow-moving pedestrians. By the time he ducks into Wolseley, he’s over twenty minutes late.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” Nick says, bending to kiss Anne on both cheeks. “I left late and traffic was miserable.”

Anne laughs, waving off his excuses.

“I only just got here myself,” she says. “Gemma and I ran long at the fitting. I haven’t even ordered my tea yet.”

“Good, good. You look lovely by the way. You’re all fresh and glowy. I think this wedding business agrees with you,” Nick says as he flags their waiter over to order tea.

“Seeing Gemma happy certainly does. Robin and I just got back from LA so I’m full of kelp smoothies and sunshine.”

Nick wrinkles his nose and makes the very grown-up decision to order french toast and bacon. Anne may look better than he does even though she is ten years his senior, but at least Nick will be able to look back in forty years without regretting all of the food he didn’t eat while he still had teeth and working taste buds.

It’s childish of him, but he’s always been of the mind that his mental age has remained eighteen, even though the crows feet around his eyes constantly remind him that his body hasn’t gotten the memo.

“And how’s the boy?” Nick asks.

He’s all about balance, Nick is. If he’s going to be immature and eat badly, he’ll make up for it by ripping off the bandage that covers the ever-present wound of Harry Styles. He tries to pull off casual disinterest, lest Anne get the wrong idea. Nick has had years of practice pretending to not be in love with Harry and feels like he’s gotten pretty good at it, but when he looks up Anne is smiling at him fondly.

“Stop that,” Nick says. “I’m asking as a friend.”

“The boy is fine,” Anne answers, still smiling. “He’s tan and happy and loving life. Although I suppose it’s time for me to admit he’s not much of a boy anymore. He’s all grown up now.”

“Is he seeing—” Nick is kept from embarrassing himself by the arrival of their tea.

Once they’ve ordered food and their server has gone, Anne says, “He is seeing someone, but I think it’s new. He didn’t introduce us, at any rate, so I don’t think he’s bringing her to the wedding.”

Nick feels the same sting of disappointment every time he hears or reads about any of Harry’s possible relationships. It’s ridiculous to still feel like this after all these years — pathetic really — but he can’t help it.

“None of my business,” Nick says.

Anne laughs at him again. Nick adores her, but sometimes she’s a right pain in the arse. It’s terrible having someone you love and respect know all your secrets and still like you anyway.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she says. “And when have you ever let your curiosity be stifled by the fact that it’s not your business?”

She has a fair point. Nick is naturally curious, and people like to chat. His mum’s always said Nick has one of those faces. Unfortunately, people stopped wanting to tell Nick about Harry right around the time he and Harry stopped sleeping together. It’s one of life’s little inconveniences that he started wanting people to talk to him about Harry the very moment they all stopped.

“Ah well,” Nick says. There’s no hiding from Anne anyway. “I’m glad he’s happy. I want him to be happy.”

“Darling,” Anne says. “I love you both so dearly, but you’re complete idiots. If you would only—”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Nick interrupts, and he knows his enthusiastic tone is as fake as the smile on his face.

“You’re both so stubborn!”

They’ve been over this before. Anne’s a romantic and she’s always had a soft spot for Nick. It’s flattering, really, that the mother of the love of his life wants them to get back together almost as badly as Nick does. If pressed, Nick will admit he’d hoped he and Harry might try again after 1D went on hiatus, but Harry had gone to L.A. instead. Nick has long since accepted that they’ve missed their chance.

“Why don’t you tell me about the wedding,” Nick says firmly, putting an end to talk of Harry.

Anne stares at him for a moment, and there’s something a bit sad in her eyes. It’s gone as soon as she gets started detailing Gemma’s upcoming nuptials. Nick relaxes, sips his tea, and lets Anne tell him all about Gemma’s dress, a replica of an old regency era gown and the corresponding regency themed reception.

“This is marvelous,” Nick says. “I think I’ll look excellent in cravat.”

“Very gentlemanly,” Anne agrees. “And if you can’t find anything you like you can come see me. Someone once told me I’m an excellent stylist.”

 

~~~

The place Gemma’s chosen for her wedding is perfectly Cheshire — a lakeside open-air gazebo surrounded by rolling hills and sprawling greenery. The family has rented out a bed and breakfast for the weekend, but it’s turned out not to be large enough for all the guests. Nick has been relegated to a hotel up the road.

Once he’s unpacked and hung his suits in the little makeshift closet, Nick calls for Lady and packs them both into his car to make the short drive to the venue. By the time they arrive she’s vibrating with excitement in the seat next to him.

“Ready for a walk, pretty girl?” 

Lady darts off with her long ears flying in the wind as soon as Nick parks the car at the venue and goes round to open the door. He laughs and follows at a more leisurely pace. The place really is beautiful and the weather is lovely — sunny and warm, but not so hot that Nick would rather be inside.

Lady comes running back with a twig and Nick picks it up and throws it. The thing doesn’t have much weight to it and doesn’t go far, but Lady doesn’t seem to mind. She picks it up and trots off with it toward a person coming over the top of the hill.

Nick’s heart does a little lurch. He’d know that silhouette anywhere — skinny legs in tight jeans and boots, a T-shirt two sizes too big, and long curls ruffled by the wind. He watches as Lady reaches Harry and Harry bends down to greet her, rubbing behind her ears as he gently takes the stick and tosses it away for her to chase.

When he looks up, his eyes lock with Nick’s. They stare at each other for a long minute, and Nick is rooted to the spot for so long that Harry is halfway to him before Nick wills his feet to move again.

When they’re close, Harry leans in and kisses Nick’s cheek. His lips hit the corner of Nick’s mouth, sending sparks up Nick’s spine and making his cheeks flush red.

‘Hiya,” Nick says, taking a deliberate step back to put some space between them.

“Cute dog,” Harry says. “How long have you had her?”

“Almost a year now,” Nick says. “I wasn’t sure I wanted another after—”

He cuts himself off with an awkward shrug. Nick has never been good at expressing genuine emotion. Even thinking about Puppy still brings tears to his eyes eight years later, and he isn’t comfortable letting Harry see that.

“She looks like a good ‘un though,” Harry says. “What’s her name?”

“Lady,” Nick answers, trying his best not to dwell on all the things Harry doesn’t know about him anymore — all the things he doesn’t know about Harry.

If anyone had asked an hour ago, Nick would have insisted that he and Harry are still friends. Seeing him again, Nick begins to doubt that. He’s suddenly struck by how little contact they’ve had the last few years and how much of that is his own fault. Harry’d tried in the beginning. He’d still texted and called just as often as he always had.

Nick had let his hurt over Harry’s decision to make L.A. his home get the better of him. He’d stopped texting back, stopped taking Harry’s calls, and eventually Harry had taken the hint.

“Come here, Lady,” Harry says, squatting down to pet the dog again. He tosses her stick and looks up at Nick, eyes squinting against the sun.

“You look good,” Nick says.

It’s always been true, but more so now. All of Harry’s boyishness has gone. His face has filled out and settled and he’s got the faintest of lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes, reminding Nick of how much they used to laugh together and just how much time has passed. 

Nick thinks back to his lunch with Anne. She was right — Harry is not a boy anymore. He’s all grown up and still so beautiful it makes Nick’s chest ache. He remembers Alexa once said looking at him was like staring into the face of a lighthouse. It was such a ridiculously romantic thing to say that he’d teased her about it for days after, even though he’d secretly agreed. Harry’s always been undeniable and Nick’s still drawn in like a piece of metal caught up in his magnetic field. 

“You too,” Harry says, sounding just as genuine as he always did when he gave Nick silly compliments.

Nick takes a deep breath to steady himself. “How about a walk, Styles?”

Harry smiles and stands, tucking his hands in his back pockets.

“I could go for a stroll,” he says.

“Well then, after you,” Nick says and follows Harry’s lead.

~~~

Nick loves Anne Twist, but she is currently at the top of his list. Nick doesn’t have a kill list because he’s a lover, not a fighter, and he’d much rather run away from blood and violence. It’s more a list of people he wishes would experience small discomforts.

Like realizing they’ve run out of loo roll after a poo.

Or getting lemon juice in a cut on their finger.

Or losing their lighter while they’re driving the car and craving a fag.

The last one isn’t even an option because Anne doesn’t smoke, but the point is that Anne is on Nick’s list because she made the seating arrangements and Nick’s thigh is currently rubbing up against Harry’s under the table.

“Squeezed us in like sardines, haven’t they?” Nick asks.

“Mhm,” Harry says oh-so-helpfully. “Pretty day for a barbeque, though.”

It is a lovely day. Nick is happy he made the decision to take Friday off entirely and drive down after work on Thursday. He plans to enjoy the entire weekend because, despite his problems with Harry, he loves this family almost a much as he loves his own — maybe more on days when his dad is being particularly difficult or critical.

Next to the tables, the venue staff have cleared a large area for games. Nick sees Lux, her baby brother Adieus, and several other children he doesn’t know running around playing tag. At the next table over, Ben is trying to convince Louis and Niall to join him for a game of footie.

Nick doesn’t imagine Louis ever needs much convincing and he’s proven right when Louis puts his napkin on the table and shouts at Liam to get on the field. The four of them split away from each other in pursuit of other recruits and it doesn’t take long for Niall to make it to their table.

“Grimmy? How ‘bout ya?”

“Nick’ll end up in the A&E and miss the whole wedding,” Harry says.

“You’re not much better,” Nick says.

He’s seen the videos. He knows how often Harry almost fell off of stages or lit himself on fire back in the day.

“I never ended up in hospital,” Harry reminds him.

Nick doesn’t think it’s fair to use that as leverage when it was obviously sheer dumb luck that kept Harry from seriously injuring himself. It isn’t Nick’s fault the fates have chosen to smile upon Harry while giving Nick the short end of the stick.

“You can’t take credit for luck, Harold,” Nick says.

He feels awkward as soon as he says it. He hasn’t used the nickname in so long he’s not sure he still has a right to it.

Instead of answering, Harry stands up and pulls his shirt over his head draping it over the back of his chair. The inside of Nick’s mouth feels like dust. It’s been too long since he’s seen Harry without clothes and he can’t help staring at all of that golden skin on display. 

Niall whoops triumphantly. “Knew I could count on you,” he says before running back over to report to Ben.

Harry leans over Nick for his wine glass, placing his hand on Nick’s shoulder for support. He gulps down the entire glass and puts it back on the table.

“Probably not the best idea before a game,” Nick says dryly, doing his best to ignore the place where Harry’s touching him.

“Let’s see if my luck holds out,” Harry says.

He runs out to join the group and Nick lets his head drop to the table with a loud thunk. However good Harry’s luck might be, it’s sort of comforting to know that Nick’s continues to suck.

~~~

Nick spends the rest of the afternoon watching the game with the other guests. Eventually Gemma takes Harry’s seat and the two of them drink too much wine and giggle together when the boys shout lewd things at one another.

Harry scores a magnificent goal that has everyone on their feet cheering and all of the lads crowding him on the field. It’s all very laddy; Nick can almost feel his own testosterone level increasing through some kind of strange lads osmosis.

He doesn’t realize he’s beaming in Harry’s direction until Gemma says, “I’ll never understand why the two of you aren’t together.”

“Not you too,” Nick says. “You and your meddling mum can both stop.”

“It’s so obvious that Harry—”

Nick pinches her arm to stop her talking right as Harry runs over. He presses his sweaty face into Gemma’s shoulder, nicks her glass of wine, and laughs when she shrieks and bats him away.

Harry gulps down the whole glass of wine and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. If Nick didn’t know better, he’d swear Harry was doing it on purpose — giving Nick a show, reminding him just who he let walk out of his life. Harry must know that Nick hasn’t forgotten, couldn’t possibly forget. As it is, Nick barely controls the whine that tries to escape him. Harry is the most unfair person ever to exist.

“So obvious that I what?” Harry asks as he hands back Gemma’s empty glass.

“So obvious that you’re a thieving rat,” Gemma says. “Piss off and steal someone else’s wine.”

Harry gives them both a cheeky grin and then leans over Nick to steal his glass off the table. His voice rumbles in Nick’s ear as he says, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Nick’s skin breaks out in goose flesh, but he looks Harry in the eye and — yeah, yes, Harry is definitely doing it on purpose. The quirk of his mouth is a challenge. He’s telling Nick it’s his move, but what’s between them has never been a game. No matter how hard they tried to keep it simple, everything had gotten so complicated, and Nick had gotten hurt.

On the days Nick is really honest with himself, it’s easy to admit he’s still hurt. Nothing has changed. Harry still lives halfway across the world and their lives are still horribly complicated. Nick doesn’t even know what Harry is willing to offer now. Maybe he wants a quick shag on his posh B&B mattress; maybe he wants the whole weekend. Maybe he wants something else entirely. But the ball is clearly in Nick’s possession,and it’s up to him to decide how he’s going to play it. 

Harry hands Nick’s glass back and their fingers slide together with purpose. Nick swallows hard and watches him run back onto the field.

“You were saying something about our meddling?” Gemma asks smugly.

“Oh, shut up,” Nick says, reaching for the bottle of wine and refilling his glass.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to need it.

~~~

Much to the chagrin of Lady, who would much rather spend the rest of her evening chasing children and birds, Nick has a member of the venue staff drive him back to his hotel where he can spend the rest of his evening watching reruns of bad American comedies.

Several episodes of Seinfeld later, he’s startled by the knock on his door. Once his heart settles back into a somewhat reasonable cadence, Nick realizes he’s not all that surprised. Harry has always been relentless when he’s decided on something.

It’s one of the reasons it had stung so much when Harry gave up on them. His relentless pursuit had made Nick feel important — special — and Nick’s pride had never quite recovered after Harry stopped wanting him.

Nick opens the door to Harry lounging seductively in the hallway. He can’t help the hysterical laugh that comes bubbling out of his throat. Everything is ridiculous and awful and Harry is definitely here to try and get him into bed.

“Hi,” Harry says. “My mum gave me your room number and I—”

“Of course she did,” Nick mutters.

Harry gets this look on his face — a slight wrinkle of confusion between his brows that Nick remembers all too well — before he says, “I didn’t think I was reading you wrong, but if you’re…I can leave if you want?”

Nick rolls his eyes and wonders if Harry’s ever been told no in his entire life.

“Just pretend like you didn’t show up at my door? Nothing to see here?” Nick asks.

Harry frowns. “I guess that would be business as usual.”

Something in Nick snaps. Harry doesn’t get go all around the world and tell Nick he loves him and then move to bloody California and stop speaking to him. He doesn’t get to fly home for a weekend and flirt like he still wants Nick. He doesn’t get to show up at Nick’s door in the middle of the night like nothing has changed. 

Only, apparently Harry does. One second Nick means to push him out of the doorway and slam the door in his face and the next he’s pulling Harry into the room, using Harry’s weight to push the door closed so they have something to lean against as they crash together so forcefully that it knocks the air from Nick’s lungs.

Harry kisses exactly the way Nick remembers, only better because he’s real and his mouth burns against Nick’s in a way that Nick’s memory can never get quite right. They kiss like teenagers, frantic and sloppy, with Harry’s hands twisted in the material of Nick’s shirt and Nick’s hands in Harry’s hair.

He feels frantic, like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin. He wants Harry so much that he’s willing to deal with the inevitable fall out. He would rather kiss him than breath. 

“Take this off,” Harry pants, tugging at Nick’s shirt.

He does what Harry asks, stripping his shirt off and pushing his joggers off his hips and down his legs. It’s probably a mistake, being completely exposed when Harry’s still got his kit on, but Nick changes his mind when Harry goes to his knees and licks at the head of Nick’s cock.

He breathes over Nick, mouth teasing and the anticipation has Nick’s toes curling into the cheap hotel carpet. Nick’s cock is so hard it hurts, the head so sensitive that the faintest touch of Harry’s lips send a current through Nick’s body that makes him feel like he’s burning up from the inside out. 

“Please,” Nick begs. 

He’s never been above begging, but no one would be if they had Harry on his knees in front of them. He’s -- Nick’s never wanted to fuck anyone like he wants to fuck Harry and he groans in relief when Harry finally takes Nick’s prick into his mouth.

Harry gives head like he does everything he enjoys — intensely and with the utmost concentration and care. Nick watches him, the way Harry’s lips stretch around his cock, the determined little crease between Harry’s eyebrows, trying to take it all in.

Tomorrow Nick will regret this but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to enjoy it now. He’ll worry about the mess they’re both making later when Harry isn’t on his knees for him, moaning around his dick like he’s been starved for it all these years.

Nick buries his hands in Harry’s hair and stills his head, tipping Harry’s face up so the angle is more accommodating for Nick to thrust into his mouth. He’s beautiful like this — he’s always beautiful, but never more so than when he’s looking at Nick as if he really wants and trusts him. Like he needs him.

Harry clasps his hands behind his back. He’s like a photograph straight out of a porn magazine, flushed and submissive and wanting. Nick wants to fuck him and fuck him up -- to make Harry look and feel the way Nick feels whenever Harry’s near him.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” Nick says and Harry just opens up for him. 

The flat of his tongue drags along the underside of Nick’s dick on every stroke. Harry relaxes into it slowly, like someone drifting off to sleep after a long day. Nick fuck his throat, and Nick moans every time Harry’s nose touches the hair at the end of Nick’s happy trail.

It’s ridiculous how close he is already, but Harry’s always done it for him. Sex between them just works really well. It was the rest of it that always gave them problems.

“Jesus Christ,” Nick says, hoping Harry will take it for the warning it is.

He lets up on Harry’s hair, trying to give him the opportunity to pull away, but Harry moves his hands from behind his back and pulls Nick forward by his hips, swallowing around Nick’s cock right as he comes.

Harry pulls off with a gasp, his face covered in spit and sweat. It should be disgusting. It _is_ disgusting, but it’s also really fucking hot seeing Harry red faced and messy and knowing that Nick’s responsible for it.

“Come here,” Nick says gently, helping Harry to his feet.

He undoes Harry’s belt and fly perfunctorily while Harry toes his shoes off and kicks them out of the way. Nick wants to suck him off, but he doesn’t think he has it in him to return the favor. He can’t handle having that much of Harry and watching it all fly away again at the end of the holiday. But he settles them on the bed and pulls Harry closer, gratified when Harry rolls toward him easily.

Harry tucks his face against Nick’s chest. He gasps when Nick takes him in hand and works his palm over the head of Harry’s cock.

“Good?” he asks, and Harry answers with a bite to his collarbone.

Nick feels incredibly powerful and needy at once. He’s the one making Harry fall apart and he always wants to be the one making Harry feel like this. Wanting him is like an itch at the back of his throat, annoying and unreachable, even though Harry’s right here in his arms. 

Harry’s clings to him as his hips work frantically into Nick’s fist. He makes a frustrated noise against Nick’s skin as he chases his orgasm, whining like it’s something he wants so bad but it’s just out of his reach.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Nick says. 

The words spill out of his mouth before his brain catches up, but they have the right effect on Harry because he comes with Nick’s name on his lips, his fingers digging into Nick’s shoulders so hard that Nick can feel the sting of his nails. Nick pets him through it, running his cleaner fingers through Harry’s hair until Harry comes all the way down. He’s always been useless after an orgasm, and if the way he’s slumped against Nick’s chest is any indication, that part, at least, hasn’t changed.

Nick untangles himself, rolls off the bed, and goes to the toilet to wash his hands and fetch a flannel. When he gets back, Harry is asleep or at least faking it well enough to fool Nick. Nick cleans Harry up as best he can and nudges him over just enough that Nick can slide under the covers.

Despite how exhausted his mind and body feel, he lies awake for a long time, long enough that he starts to think maybe he just can’t sleep with Harry so close. His brain won’t turn off. He’s beginning to feel a bit crazy, like those times in the old days when he used to pull all-nighters and then do the Breakfast Show without any sleep.

Harry mumbles something in his sleep. He used to do it all the time when they were together. It should make things worse, but for some reason that little shift has the opposite effect on Nick, whose eyes suddenly feel heavy. The tension seeps out of his body, and the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is Harry rolling toward him, tucking himself close to Nick’s body.

~~~

Nick wakes to the sound of the shower going on. His stomach twists so much that he almost wishes Harry had snuck out before Nick woke. There’s an inevitable conversation coming but Nick’s not sure he has it in him to have yet. They have a big day ahead of them — the wedding party are supposed to take pictures on the grounds while the other guests amuse themselves with any number of activities.

Nick had planned on going for a nice massage and then back to the hotel for a kip while the family go to the rehearsal dinner. After the dinner there’s a party all the guests are invited to attend where Nick’s promised to DJ. It would have been fairly easy to avoid Harry and any awkward post-shag conversations, if only Harry had had the decency to sneak out in the early morning.

“Hey,” Harry says, emerging from the steamy bathroom with one towel slung around his narrow hips while running another over his wet hair.

“Hiya,” Nick says.

“I left you some hot water,” Harry says. “I thought I’d wait for you and we could drive in together. I remembered you had a driver bring you back last night.”

Nick hadn’t remembered, but now there’ll be no getting rid of Harry. It would be stupid to send Harry on his way only to have to call for another car later.

“I’ll just be a mo’ then,” Nick says and slides out of bed.

He curses himself for not throwing on pants before crawling into bed last night. It’s embarrassing to be so exposed with the sunlight streaming through the flimsy hotel curtains, especially after a night of very poor decision making.

Harry, to his credit, doesn’t look. He’s too busy picking his clothes up off of the floor. Nick flees to the safety of the bathroom and takes a shower as hot as he can stand it.

The ride back stretches on forever, made even more awkward by the silence. Eventually, Nick reaches out to turn the radio on.

Harry stops his hand. “Nick can we—“

“No,” Nick says, cutting him off.

What is there to talk about? They fucked. It was as good as Nick remembers. Maybe they can fuck again. Maybe they could keep fucking whenever Harry pops into London for a visit or Nick goes out to L.A. for a festival. Maybe Nick would hate it so much that it would slowly chip away at this unending desire he still feels for Harry until he could finally be done with it.

The problem is Nick doesn’t actually _want_ to hate Harry. So there is nothing to talk about.

“It happened,” Nick says. “It probably shouldn’t happen again.”

Harry shakes his head, his brow wrinkled up like he wants to protest, but he doesn’t argue. He turns the radio on instead, twisting the volume up too loud for conversation. It suits Nick just fine.

When they reach the bed and breakfast, Harry parks the car out front and slams his way out of the driver’s seat. It takes Nick a moment to catch up. He’s still unbuckling his safety belt when the passenger door opens and Harry ducks down so that they’re face to face.

“You’re so stubborn,” Harry says angrily, and then he kisses Nick hard and fast, spins on his heel, and storms off toward his room.

It happens so quickly Nick doesn’t even have time to respond. He’s left sitting alone in Harry’s car, lips stinging and heart in his throat.

~~~

Nick goes for his planned massage. There’s nothing to be done about Harry anyway. Usually Nick would counsel himself not to ignore his problems, but since his problem will be catching a Monday flight back to the states he reckons it won’t hurt to stick his head in the sand this one time.

The room is quiet except for the soothing ocean noises being played over the sound system. Nick doesn’t mind having a chat with his masseuse, but he’s not really in the mood to converse with strangers today and is thankful when it turns out she doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence by talking.

When the massage is done, Nick’s body feels relaxed but his head is still a confused mess. If he was in London he’d go to the pub for a drink or email Ian ideas for next week’s shows. Friends and work have always helped him clear his head and allowed him to focus on what’s really important.

Here in the heart of Cheshire he only has Harry, and even then he doesn’t really have Harry at all. Nick counts Gemma and Anne amongst his friends, but he never forgets that they are Harry’s family. They’re always going to support Harry first.

Instead of wallowing, he goes to the tent where he’ll be DJing and checks on his equipment. When he can’t put it off any longer, he finally gives in and texts Aimee.

_I slept with Harry._

There’s no sense beating around the bush with Aimee. She’s the kind of woman who sets bushes on fire if they get in her way, so it’s better to be upfront lest you get burned for your trouble. She’s probably going to set him on fire anyway.

His phone rings a minute later and Nick answers with a sigh.

“You did what now?” Aimee says.

“You can read,” Nick answers.

Aimee huffs. Nick can just picture her sat on the sofa rolling her eyes at him.

“Details, Grimmy.”

Nick recounts the previous day’s events and then adds, “I’m just going to avoid him for the rest of the weekend. I think it’s very adult of me.”

“Or you could have a conversation that’s, like, a decade overdue. Maybe tell him you’ve been in love with him forever. Just a thought.”

Nick’s heart hammers in his chest and all his extremities go hot and then cold before settling into a disconnected numbness, like static on a TV screen.

“You know I’m rubbish at relationships,” Nick says. “I’ve never had a meaningful romance in my life and he still lives in another country and I—”

“You ask him to come back to London,” Aimee says. “Or you quit your job to move to L.A., adopt babies, and let him keep you in the lifestyle to which you’ve grown accustomed. 

“I—”

“I’m talking, Grimmy — you’re listening,” Aimee snaps. “You’re always going on about how you can’t do relationships blah blah, but from where I’m standing you do them all the time. We’ve been friends for over twenty years. Chung lives in New York and you still make time and space for her in your life. Even Gels and Henry are still around. Fuck, you’ve been in love with the same guy for ten years despite the fact that you haven’t been _together_ for most of that time. I’ve seen you systematically go after and get everything you’ve ever wanted in life, and if you think you can’t have Harry then I’m telling you the only person stopping you is you.”

No one can make him bleed quite like Aimee can. There’s nothing left to say but the awful horrible fear that’s always lurked in the back of Nick’s mind.

“What if he doesn’t love me back?” Nick asks.

“Oh, babe. I’m pretty sure he’s crazy about you. If he isn’t, he’s an idiot. But there’s only one way to find out.”

Nick doesn’t know if he has the courage to do what Aimee’s suggesting, but the notion that he could finally put everything on the table and get some answers, even if they’re not the answers he wants, helps ease a little of the ache in his heart.

“Okay,” Nick says and lets out a long steady breath. “If I call you in tears tonight you’d better answer.”

“I will,” Aimee says. “Then I’ll drive over and throttle him.”

Nick laughs, watery and terrified. “Thanks, Aims. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Aimee says. 

~~~

The wedding party is still gathered outside for the photos when Nick finds them. Gemma and her bridegroom Adam are posed by a tree and Nick is pleased to note that Adam is indeed wearing a cravat. 

Harry’s dressed similarly, but he’s also wearing a jaunty top hat because of course he is. Nick can’t help staring at him. He’s lovely to look at all dressed up, like he’s stepped right out of one of those BBC Jane Austen productions that puts Nick to sleep.

A particularly strong gust of wind whips through and Harry’s hat goes flying, tumbling across the ground and stopping near enough that Nick gets to it before the next gust blows through.

The photographer glances up at the sky with a worrying look on her face and says, “I think we should pack it in. It’s going to rain any moment.”

It does look rather gloomy out, but Nick isn’t sure the weather would dare rain on Gemma Styles and risk her wrath. Nick once said Gemma was well hard many years ago, and he wasn’t lying. He’s seen her lay into any number of people who have dared to cross her — Harry included.

“Thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress,” Nick says, walking toward Harry to return his hat.

Harry looks momentarily surprised to see Nick, but he seems to recover quickly.

“Gemma doesn’t believe in luck,” he says.

Of course she doesn’t, Nick thinks, and he’s about to say as much when the sky finally opens up and pours buckets down on all of them.

True to form, Gemma calmly pulls an umbrella out of thin air and instructs Adam to pick up the hem of her dress as they make their way toward shelter. Harry seems even less bothered. He simply leans his head back and opens his mouth to catch a few raindrops on his tongue.

“You’ll ruin your suit!” Gemma shouts at him.

Harry, in all his maturity, sticks his tongue out at her and says, “Go on before you melt and reveal your true identity. Does Adam know he’s marrying a witch?”

Gemma narrows her eyes and gives Harry a look that promises he’ll pay for it later when she’s not worried about ruining her very lovely dress. Nick doesn’t envy Harry. He imagines the Styles siblings are rough with their revenge, especially on each other.

“She’s going to get you so good,” Nick says.

“Yep,” Harry agrees.

The rain has soaked them both. Nick watches the drops run down Harry’s neck and into the stiff collar of his shirt for a long moment before he notices that Harry’s teeth have started to chatter.

“Let’s get out of this, shall we?” Nick suggests.

They walk briskly across the field in tandem with their shoulders bumping companionably. Nick isn’t a fan of rain and Harry’s suit is getting quite soaked so it’s a relief when they make it to Harry’s room. 

Harry opens the door and stands aside in invitation, but Nick hesitates for a moment. They should probably talk about what happened last night.

“Bit chilly,” Harry says, his teeth chattering.

Nick’s being an arse. Harry’s liable to freeze to death while he stands around in useless indecision. He ducks into Harry’s room and turns around to say something -- apologize for this morning or at least make excuses, but his mouth doesn’t seem to want to make words.

Harry looks younger like this, all wet and dressed like someone from a time when Nick wouldn’t have been allowed to have him even if Harry wanted him back. It makes Nick’s chest hurt, so instead of saying he’s sorry he takes Harry’s wet face in his hands and kisses him.

He half expects Harry to push him away, considering what an arse he’d been, but Harry pulls him closer and kisses him back just as eagerly as he had last night. Nick wants to go on kissing him forever, to put off the inevitable conversation until their mouths are too sore to make words, but eventually Harry’s full-body shivers put a stop to that line of thought.

The air in the room is cooler than it was outside and when Nick finally steps back, Harry’s teeth go right back to chattering uncontrollably.

“S-s-sorry,” Harry stutters and starts stripping his suit off.

Watching him strip off feels intimate, like it did when they’d first met and Harry used to pop by unannounced for a night of takeout and telly that usually ended up with the two of them half dressed and snogging on Nick’s sofa. 

The memories make him smile. Nick’s so incredibly fond of Harry. Sometimes he gets lost inside his own head and forgets that. When they were good they were really really good. 

Nick steps into the en suite and grabs a robe and one of the white fluffy towels hanging on the back of the door. Harry takes the towel gratefully and dries himself off while Nick picks up his soiled suit and drapes it over a chair in the corner.

“You’ll need to have them launder that for you today if you mean to wear it tomorrow,” Nick says turning around to find Harry’s mercifully wrapped himself in the complimentary robe.

“Yeah,” Harry says and picks up the phone to do just that.

Once he’s hung up Nick says, “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—“

There’s a knock at Harry’s door and before either of them can respond, the door swings open and Harry’s mum comes in.

“Sweetheart, I—Oh, I’m sorry!” Anne says. “I didn’t realize.”

They’re not even doing anything, but Nick feels embarrassed all the same. Maybe because Harry’s not dressed or maybe because he knows Anne wants them to get back together or maybe just the thought of Harry’s mum knowing that they _might have_ been about to do something is enough to make Nick’s cheeks turn pink.

“It’s fine. I was just about to go,” Nick says, which is a filthy lie.

He was just about to spill his guts and possibly make the biggest fool of himself. Which is saying a lot considering he once sprained his ankle trying to parkour off his upstairs neighbor’s balcony while in Alexa’s skirt and a 3 inch heel.

“Nonsense,” Anne says, trying to step between Nick and the door. “I can come back later.”

“No,” Nick says firmly. “Harry, I’ll see you in a bit.”

There’s no way he can say what he came to say now. The moment is gone, and Nick’s nerve along with it. He figures he’s been waiting a decade to say it anyway. One more day isn’t going to kill him.

~~~

Nick spends most of the night on the decks. He sees Harry in glimpses, cutting shapes on the dance floor with Gemma and his mum and every available pretty thing of any gender between the ages of 5 and 85. It’s typical Harry. Watching him puts Nick in the mood to dance, makes him wish he hadn’t promised to DJ so he could twist and shout with the rest of the guests.

“Mum says you look like you need this,” Harry says sidling up looking wrecked and sweaty and happy with a fruity cocktail in his hand.

Nick takes the drink and mouths at the straw around the ridiculous umbrella and wedge of pineapple obstructing it.

“She knows me so well,” Nick says rolling his eyes.

Nick’s not afraid of or opposed to an ostentatious tropical drink and a wild party, but he’s always been more partial to a beer and a night in with pals.

“No, but I do,” Harry says, revealing his other hand where he’s holding two bottles by their necks.

“Bless you, Styles,” Nick says.

Harry leans against the wall behind Nick and settles in to watch Nick work. Nick tries not to be bothered by it. He switches the record to Nelly’s “Hot in Here” to the laughter and groans of the people on the dance floor, but feels smug and superior when they all stay to dance to it.

“Look at them all getting low. Do the youths still say getting low?” Nick asks.

“’S not exactly my demographic anymore,” Harry says. “But everyone loves a throwback.”

“Your mum is actually taking her blouse off,” Nick says.

Harry’s head whips around and he says, “Oh god. I’d better—“

Nick cackles as Harry runs off.

Convincing Anne it’s time to retire to her room takes the combined power of Robin and both of her children. Nick gives a little sigh of relief when he sees Harry walk her off the dance floor and disappear into the darkness, presumably to escort Anne back to her room.

It’s another hour before the party truly winds down and Nick leaves the deck. He’s sober, which is both terrible in that being drunk is always more fun, and great, in that he can drive himself back to his hotel. He starts the walk to his car, lighting a cigarette along the way.

He’d meant to go fetch Lady from Lou and Tom’s room where she was being looked after by a lovely young girl named Sarah just like the rest of the party attendee’s children, but he’s fairly sure Lou would rather keep her overnight than risk Nick popping up at her door in the middle of the night and waking Lux and Adieus.

His musings are all for naught because when he gets to his car Harry is there, leaned against the door like a cat waiting for its dinner.

“Fancy a drive?” Harry asks.

A drive would be a good time to have that talk he’s been putting off for years, but 2 am after a gig the day before Gemma’s wedding is less ideal. Nick doesn’t fancy a drive.

“How about a walk instead?” Nick asks.

Harry pushes himself off the car and they walk toward the lake in relative silence.

The moon isn’t full, but it’s not far off… or maybe it’s already happened. Nick’s not really one to follow the cycles of the moon. Either way, it’s beautiful reflected off the surface of the water. It makes everything seem much brighter.

“Pretty,” Harry murmurs. 

When Nick turns Harry’s looking at him. Nick thinks it’s an invitation, that the entire ambush at Nick’s car was the start of an obvious seduction, but when he leans down to kiss him Harry stops him.

“You going to treat me like rubbish again tomorrow morning?” Harry asks. “I mean I might still say yes, but I’d like forewarning if you’re going to treat me like a club hookup you picked up in the bathroom at Shoreditch.”

It stings but Nick deserves it. Truth be told, he probably treats his club hookups better than he treated Harry this morning. 

“I’m sorry,” Nick says. “That was --”

“I get you don’t want to talk about… us. It’s fine, but if you still like me enough to fuck me then you can talk to me over coffee in the morning.”

“Okay,” Nick says.

Harry tips his face up and this time when Nick leans in he lets Nick kiss him.

They break apart and Harry says, “Walk me back?”

They head back together, Harry refusing the cigarette Nick offers him when he lights on of his own, but he steals Nick’s every other drag just like Nick knew he would. Nick has a theory that the only time Harry smokes is if he can use it to be a little shit.

When they get back to Harry’s room, Harry steals one more drag and hands the end back to Nick.

“Fancy a night cap?” he asks.

Nick grinds the end out with his shoe and follows Harry inside.

~~~

Nick wakes slowly. Harry’s room is warm and comfortable, the light mostly blocked by thick curtains, so it is with great internal protest and a loud groan that Nick sits up and stretches his arms over his head.

Harry’s sat in the corner of the room, scrolling through his phone in nothing but his pants. He looks up when Nick starts making his morning noises.

“I ordered breakfast,” Harry says. “Should be here in a minute.”

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” Nick asks.

Harry shrugs and goes back to checking his messages, leaving Nick to spend a panicked moment debating whether he should find his pants or just streak to the bathroom. He finally decides it’s a bit ridiculous to worry, seeing as Harry’s seen him naked plenty of times already.

“Nice bum,” Harry says as he walks by.

The glare Nick levels at him seems to have absolutely no effect. When he turns, Harry just looks at his cock instead and gives Nick his cheekiest grin.

“You’re horrible,” Nick says and flees to the safety of the shower.

He steals Harry’s posh robe when he’s through and comes out to find Harry by the closet hanging his freshly laundered suit in the closet. The small table under the window has coffee and orange juice and a plate of fresh fruit and pastries.

“Now who’s got the nice buns?” Nick asks, tearing the corner off a croissant.

“That pun was half-baked,” Harry says, trying his best not to laugh at his own ridiculousness.

Nick rolls his eyes and gestures for Harry to sit down. Taking the other chair, Nick pours a coffee for himself and a cup of juice for Harry.

“Took me a minute to think of one,” Nick says. “I must be a bit _crusty_.”

“You _kneaded_ way too much time for that one,” Harry says.

He makes a little drumming motion with his hands and Nick laughs despite the fact that none of this situation should be funny. His chest hurts and his head feels a bit fuzzy. None of it can be blamed on a hangover.

Harry’s going to get on a plane and fly away tomorrow morning unless Nick says the right thing to stop him. Maybe he’ll get on a plane anyway. Maybe he doesn’t love Nick anymore, if he ever did. Nick has to hope that Harry wouldn’t shag him if he didn’t at least mean _something_ to him.

Harry keeps looking at him like he’s waiting for Nick to lob the next pun his way. He’s all easy smiles and loose limbs; it would be so easy for Nick just to banter with Harry over breakfast, but his internal monologue has devolved into several variations of _I am so in love with him_.

He might possibly be having a panic attack.

“I am so in love with you,” Nick says.

By the time his brain catches up with his mouth it’s too late to take it back.

Harry looks stunned, like Nick has just told him aliens are real and have been visiting him on the regular since he was a child. 

There is nowhere to hide and nothing to do but wait for Harry’s response. Nick makes the very adult decision to stuff his entire croissant into his mouth while Harry processes what Nick’s just said. At least this way he can’t say anything else that will get him in trouble.

“You…since when?” Harry finally manages.

“Aways,” Nick says around his mouthful of croissant.

“But you stopped talking to me!” Harry says. “I thought I was annoying you. I thought...”

Nick swallows his bite and wishes he had something other than coffee to wash it down. His mouth is extremely dry.

“You moved to another country,” Nick says.

“Bullshit,” Harry says. “I stayed in Los Angeles because you made it clear you didn’t care if I came back.”

Nick’s not sure whose history Harry is rehashing here, but his memory of events is not at all Nick’s memory of events.

“You bought a house without telling me,” Nick says. “You stopped coming home on breaks. You—”

“I’m a millionaire!” Harry yells so loudly that anyone in England who wasn’t aware of that little-known fact surely is now. “I have six houses. I have two houses _here_ , one of which is a mere mile from where you live. Why does my house in California matter more than that one?”

“Well,” Nick says bitterly, “maybe it matters because you actually live in the house in California. I thought that was where you wanted to be.”

“It is,” Harry says. Nick’s heart breaks a little more. “But if you’d only said something back then…I was so gone on you, Nick. I think I would have done anything you wanted.”

Nick looks at Harry’s face and takes a shuddery breath. All this time he’d been convinced he was scared that Harry would say no, but Harry’s confession freaks him right out. Nick is barely able to keep himself from running out the door now; there’s no way he would have been able to handle this ten years ago.

“I think I would have run screaming back then,” Nick says.

“I think I knew that,” Harry says. “Maybe that’s why I ran instead.”

Nick takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“I can’t do anything about what happened then,” Nick says, “but I’m saying something now. I just...I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m so gone on you. I’d do anything you asked of me.”

Harry looks at him for a long minute.

“I need a little time to sort all this out in my head,” he says eventually.

It isn’t the huge declaration of undying love and devotion he’d hoped for, but it isn’t a no. Nick is counting it as a win.

“Of course,” he says.

“But there is something I want to ask you,” says Harry.

“Anything,” Nick says.

“How do you feel about being my date to my sister’s wedding?”

Nick feels invincible, like Superman but without all that kryptonite mumbo jumbo. He feels like he could fly.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “I’d love to.”

~~~

Gemma’s ceremony goes off without a hitch. The weather cooperates fully and everybody looks beautiful. Nick cries and blames it on his hay fever when the woman next to him hands him a tissue.

Despite being Harry’s date, Nick doesn’t see much of him until the reception. Even then, Harry is dragged off every few minutes to have a chat or accept congratulations from a long lost relative. Nick doesn’t know why Gemma’s wedding is some kind of grand accomplishment for Harry, but everyone seems to want to tell him how happy they are for him.

“You’d think he was the one who’d got married,” Nick says to Gemma when he finally manages to get her alone for a minute without twenty other people crowding around.

“Everyone in the world used to do it to me too with his singing,” Gemma says. “’Oh congratulations on your brother’s success.’ I know they just mean I must be proud, but it’s weird, innit?”

Nick isn’t a stranger to those conversations. It’s one of the hazards of having Harry in your life. People are naturally curious about him and watching them do their very best to bring him up in ways they think are totally casual used to be one of Nick’s greatest amusements.

“Psh,” Nick says. “They were just looking for an excuse to talk about him.”

“People do like to talk about him,” Gemma says. “For example, a little bird told me she caught you in Harry’s room the other day.”

He knows Gemma’s only teasing, but Nick still doesn’t know what’s going to happen and he feels oddly protective of the fragile thing between him and Harry.

“Your mum misinterpreted, and she should tweet less about it,” Nick says.

Gemma grabs Nick’s arm and squeezes it. “We didn’t mean anything by it,” she says. “We just – we love you both.”

“I’m not cross,” Nick says. “But I do wish you would both kindly stay out of it. It’s complicated and we’re… handling it.”

Gemma’s face does something weird and she says, “You should probably not look at your dance card then.”

“What did you do?” Nick asks accusingly.

“We were just trying to help!” Gemma says, backing away slowly. “We want you happy.”

Across the room Harry laughs at something his cousin has said. When he notices Nick looking, he doesn’t stop smiling.

“I want that too,” Nick says, deciding to give Gemma and Anne a break. He knows their hearts are in the right place. “Will you excuse me?”

“Of course,” Gemma says and accepts the kisses Nick places on her cheeks before he goes.

Nick works his way across the room to Harry and waits politely for a lull in the conversation before getting Harry’s attention.

“Hiya,” Nick says.

“I told my mum about this morning,” Harry says.

Nick knows Anne loves him, but there’s still a chance she’s changed her mind about him. He’s not always done his best by Harry.

“And?”

“She said some stuff about us being birds and how maybe it’s time to come home,” Harry says.

There’s no way to be sure if that’s actually what Anne said or if Harry has wildly misinterpreted an innocent story about birds. That’s the beauty of the Styles family — they’re all fucking weird.

Either way it doesn’t seem like Anne hates his guts, so Nick will count it as a win.

“I don’t completely know what that means, but it doesn’t sound like a terrible idea,” Nick says.

“How would it work though?” Harry asks. “Would I come back to London and move into your flat or would you quit your job and come to L.A. with me? Like, maybe we’re not both birds. Maybe it’s like that movie with Drew Barrymore and one of us is a fish, you know?”

Nick opens his mouth to say something but he’s not sure what to say. He has no idea what Harry’s on about. He’s completely lost the plot. This is almost like the time he tried to watch Harry Potter, only he kept having to get up and fetch things for everyone else, so by the time he settled in he had no idea what was going on in the film, and he’d just gone to bed instead.

“What?” Nick asks.

“You know, the bit about a bird and fish being in love but having no place to live,” Harry says seriously. 

“The only Drew Barrymore movie I’ve seen is Charlie’s Angels,” Nick says.

“Nick, we watched it together,” Harry says. “That time at Annie’s house when you got drunk and lost the keys to your car so we had to stay over.”

“You expect me to remem--”

“Wait,” Harry says. “You haven’t seen E.T.? Nick that’s –”

Nick kisses him to shut him up. They’re getting wildly off topic and drastic measures must be taken.

“Who cares about E.T.?” Nick asks. “It’s an elaborate marketing campaign for those little imposter M&M candies they sell in America for Christ’s sake.”

Harry smiles up at him. The look on his face is so sweet that Nick feels his insides turn to jelly.

“Nick,” Harry says. 

“Did you just call me a fish because you’re trying to say you love me?”

“Maybe I’m the fish,” Harry says.

Nick thinks Harry is probably the bird, but he’s starting to think maybe that’s the whole point of this being in love business. Nick’s always going to think the best of Harry and Harry’s always going to think the best of him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nick says. “I don’t really want to quit my job, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make changes. We could – Aimee told me we could live everywhere or nowhere, that we could do anything we wanted if we just tried. We’re the only ones stopping us.”

“Aimee’s pretty smart,” Harry says.

“Let’s not tell her,” Nick says. “She’ll be insufferable.”

Nick knows they still have a lot to talk about. He’s not foolish enough to think things aren’t going to be difficult, but it can’t possibly be harder than living without Harry for one more second.

“Come on,” Harry says. “Let’s go make you some wings.”

“Am I going to have to watch this movie to understand you? Is it all movie metaphors from here on out?” Nick asks.

“Nah,” Harry says. “You’d be asleep before the first act anyway.”

“You’ll just have to interpret for me,” Nick says.

“I’m just saying I love you, Nick.”

It’s not the first time Harry’s ever said it, but it is the first time Nick’s properly heard it. They both have so much making up to do.

“That’s good,” Nick says. 

Harry takes his hand and asks, “Now what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever we want I guess. We could start with a dance?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Harry says, pulling out his dance card to reveal the whole thing is filled out with Nick’s name on every line.

Nick fishes his out of his pocket and sees his is similarly filled out with Harry’s name. He’s too happy to be cross about it.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Styles.”

“That suits me just fine,” Harry says, taking Nick’s hand and leading him onto the dance floor.


End file.
